


Fairy Tales for the Fallen

by indiavolowetrust



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Blood, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fractured Fairy Tale, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolowetrust/pseuds/indiavolowetrust
Summary: Gather 'round, dear listener, and I will tell you a tale ...
Comments: 28
Kudos: 69





	1. The Little Scorpion

Once upon a time, there lived a little scorpion.

The day was bright and fair. The skies were composed of stars, the palace built from fine marble. The columns in this castle were composed of gold, the floors shone as if they were mirrors, and the gardens -- oh, the gardens! -- were so beautiful that one could only weep with joy upon witnessing it. And in this garden there lived six equally beautiful creatures. The peacock was the comeliest of all, of course, and could often be seen traipsing about with his great fan of jewel-like feathers. The crow had a voice with which he could charm just about anyone, human or angel, and the sea serpent had scales that gleamed like silver. The beetle had intricate, patterned wings, and the ox had horns the color of pure alabaster. Then there was the poor, lonely scorpion, the creature blessed with only the poison of his tail. And so he was a very lonely little thing in this great garden, often idling the days away in the shadows of the other creatures.

But fret not! The little scorpion had a plan, you see, for he was cunning and clever. He would emulate the jewel-like feathers of the peacock, the crooning voice of the crow, and the gleaming scales of the sea serpent. He would mimic the intricate pattern of the beetle and the pure alabaster of the ox’s horns. He would paint himself so, costume himself in such a manner, and create such a wonderful illusion that none would be the wiser.

Every other creature of the castle would be unable to help themselves at the sight of his beauty, he thought, for who could resist such a beautiful mask? Who would be able to resist such a winsome illusion?

So the other creatures of the palace fell at his feet in adoration. The other creatures of the palace painted portraits and hammered sculptures in the image of the little scorpion. The other creatures of the palace wrote sonnets and poems in his name. The other creatures of the palace sang their praises of his beauty, the sound echoing in the halls of the grand castle.

For a while, the little scorpion was content. Happy, even, if one could call such a state that.

And then he and his brothers were exiled from the palace, the scorpion stripped of his name and false beauty. No longer was he gifted sculptures and paintings of his likeness; no longer were praises and sonnets sang in his name. No longer was he revered as the Jewel of the Heavens, corrupted and twisted creature that he now was, and no longer was he loved by all. The little scorpion was dragged screaming into the light, his divinity torn from his body, and then he was cast deep, deep, and deeper into eternal darkness. Once more the scorpion was nothing more than a writhing, simple creature.

Once upon a time, there lived a little scorpion -- and he was the ugliest, most unsightly, most hideous thing anyone could ever imagine.


	2. The Very Hungry Beetle

There once lived a very, very hungry beetle. He was great and mighty, you see, and a very good knight of the king himself -- so who could fault him for being so ravenous? Certainly not you or I. Besides, Sir Beetle was one of the greatest, most noble, and most purehearted of all his fellow knights, such a wonderful fellow was he. Sir Beetle was good and kind, and it was very often on a sunny day that you could see him giving out food to the little children in the streets. Sir Beetle would gather the scraps and leftovers from the palace kitchens and distribute them among the poor. When his squires had their rations cut as punishment for misdeeds, it was Sir Beetle who would give them the entirety of his dinner for that day.

_ Here, _ he would say, pushing his plate towards the youngling. _ Have this, for you must grow strong and mighty. Eat your fill so that you, too, will one day fight for the glory of this kingdom. We are but brothers in arms -- and so if I must give up my meals for one day, I shall. _

And oh, the stories they would tell! Sir Beetle had the strength of a dozen knights, they would say -- no, no more than that! Sir Beetle could strike down any enemy with a quick blow of his spear, tearing through the very being of his opponent. Sir Beetle was swift and brutish at once, sparing no mercy for whomever crossed his path. No knight under the king could match him -- not even his younger brother -- and so it was by unanimous decision that Sir Beetle would take the helm of the kingdom’s forces. For who else could take on such an important task?

And so for a very, very long time, Sir Beetle followed the king’s orders without question.

His sister fell in love, one day. His sister fell in love, and the very act of her love was treason.

Sir Beetle could no longer act under the king’s orders.

The very younglings Sir Beetle had trained and fought beside were now nothing but decapitated heads on the end of his spear. The generals he had once commanded fell easily beneath his blade. The king had drafted many of his own citizens in the war, regardless of how young the citizen may be, and many a time did Sir Beetle find himself at the end of a youth’s blade. These soldiers, too, he had to cut down, for to desert the king’s army meant torture for millenia. He did not think of the children he had once given bread. He did not think of how many times he had brought it upon himself to give the scraps and leftovers of the palace kitchens to the poor. He did not think of the youth’s face -- a girl no older than three or four hundred years -- as she expired in his arms, the light extinguishing in her eyes.

It was a long, bloody war.

Then one of the great Seraphim had levelled his divine spear towards him, aiming to strike, and Sir Beetle had merely flown out of the way of the spear. A fool the Seraphim was, he had thought at the time, to believe his spear could find its target.

But Sir Beetle had made a very, very grave mistake.

The spear had flown instead towards his younger sister and brother, gathering energy as it traversed past Sir Beetle. The spear Sir Beetle was quick, very quick -- but even he could not save both of them in time. Sir Beetle had looked upon the despairing eyes of his younger sister and brother, the light of the spear shining brilliantly against their bodies.

* * *

The Seraphim’s blood was as sweet as sugar, his flesh as soft and wonderful as pudding. His bones cracked easily beneath Sir Beetle’s teeth, shattering into innumerable pieces. Sir Beetle had made sure to devour the wretched, screaming thing slowly, of course -- for who could fault him for not wanting to punish the Seraphim? Who would have the sense to allow him to perish without suffering? Certainly not you or I. His brothers had done nothing as he tore the Seraphim limb from limb, cracked his bones to taste the marrow, and savored the divine being’s heart. For he was great and mighty, you see -- and so who would blame him for being so ravenous?

And so the Seraphim had died that way, dragged down into a land he did not know and devoured by a creature he could no longer recognize. The beetle had inherited a hunger that never ceased, as if a beast had been forever cursed to crawl in his belly.

And so ends our tale of the very hungry beetle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. How the Arrogant Peacock Lost His Feathers

In a very beautiful palace, within the confines of a wondrous garden, and beside a blood-red bed of roses, there sat the finest of golden cages. And within this golden cage sat the finest of leather collars, within which sat the finest of creatures. And lo and behold, he was the most comely creature one could ever imagine! This creature was the crooning peacock of the king, the most prized of all the king’s animals. The king had a crow with the most charming of voices, a beetle with the most beautiful, iridescent wings, and even a serpent with dark, shining scales -- but it was the peacock that had won over his favor, for he was the most obedient of all of the other beasts.

_ How talented he is! _ the king would cry in admiration, parading his beast among all the other nobles. The king would then demand the peacock perform another trick, the peacock would do so, and the king’s entourage would clap their hands in delight.  _ Oh, how delightful! How wonderful! _

The peacock would only hold his head in pride, you see, for he had known no other life than his inside of the palace. He would perform elaborate tricks for the king, and the king would shower him with gold and jewels. He would fan his array of pitch-black feathers to the other nobles, and the nobles would fuss over which feather was more comely than the other. The answer, of course, was the pitch-black pair of feathers in the very center of his tail, but he loved to see the nobles squabble over his beauty.

These things he knew, and these things he knew only.

The first night, as he preened his shining black feathers -- for they were his pride and joy -- his brother, the sleepy ox, asked him a question through the window.

_ Do you not tire of their games? _ said the sleepy ox, looking upon the peacock’s collection of silver combs, collars embedded with precious stones, and pillows covered in silk brocade.  _ The king parades you around the palace on a silver leash. Do you not feel shame? _

_ Oh, you are only jealous, _ snipped the peacock. _ It is only fitting that I am the king’s favorite. _

And so the sleepy ox went away.

The second night, as he preened his shining black feathers -- for they were his most beautiful asset -- his brother, the hungry beetle, asked him a question through the window.

_ Brother, I believe that something very important has happened,  _ said the hungry beetle. He looked upon the golden shackle that the king had placed on his brother’s leg, eyeing it with worry.  _ Why have you let him confine you so? Come here, and I will release you from your bonds. _

_ Oh, you are only worried that the king gives me more exotic food than you, _ snipped the peacock. _ Go away, and the barracks shall feed you in the morning. _

And so the hungry beetle went away.

The third night, as he preened his shining black feathers -- for surely he was the most perfectly made creature in the palace -- his brother, the insecure scorpion, asked him a question through the window.

_ You have let yourself become blinded by your jewels!  _ cried the scorpion, looking upon the great ruby that the king had given to the peacock. The additional collar sat like a crown upon the peacock’s proud head, the crimson jewel shining like the light of a morning star.  _ Why have you allowed the king to give you such an unfortunate thing? Remove that thing at once! _

_ And deprive myself of the greatest of my presents? _ snipped the peacock, looking upon the scorpion with disdain.  _ You are only worried that the palace will come to adore me even more than they do you. _

And so the insecure scorpion went away.

The fourth night, as he preened his shining black feathers -- for the king had not taken him out in some time -- his brother, the envious serpent, asked him a question through the window.

_ Why have you not come to the aid of your kin? _ asked the envious serpent, peering at him through the bars of the peacock’s gilded cage. So encrusted with jewels was this cage that the envious serpent could barely discern the peacock.  _ Your brothers have taken up arms in the name of their sister! They intend to wage a war against the king himself! _

For the first time, the peacock said nothing. The peacock looked upon his false crown inset with ruby, the silver collar, and the golden bars of the cage that the king had created for him. The peacock looked upon his collection of silver combs, brocade pillows, and the single golden shackle that the king had placed on his leg. The peacock thought of how he had looked upon the other creatures of the palace with disdain, how he had dismissed them so severely -- and he felt shame. He did not admit this to the envious serpent.

And so the envious serpent went away.

The fifth night never came.

Emboldened as he was by his position as the king’s favorite -- as well as the words of his brothers -- he escaped from his gilded cage to seek an audience with the king himself. He was sure that the king would listen to him, of all his animals, for how could the king deny his favorite? How could the king look upon his beauty, which was as bright as a morning star, and not lend an ear? He marched to the quarters of the king himself, holding his head quite proudly for the nobility of his actions, and demanded that the king put an end to this war.

And so the king took the arrogant peacock by his collar, flung him into the air, and tore away his most beautiful pair of feathers.

It was only by luck that his brother, the crow, had come to save him -- but by that time, it was too late to save his feathers. The arrogant peacock was stripped of his title as the king’s favorite, his beloved jewels and silver and gold taken away from him, and he and his brothers were cast out deep, deep, and deeper into the darkness below.

And that is how the peacock lost his feathers.


	4. The Tongue-Cut Crow

Once upon a time -- for that is how all of our stories begin, dear listener -- there once lived a crow with wings of pure alabaster, eyes like sapphires, and the most charming, most wonderful birdsong throughout the entirety of the kingdom. Peasants would come from far and wide to simply listen to the crow’s beautiful voice, falling to their knees in adoration. Lords and ladies of the court would seek an audience with the king to attend the crow’s song. While the king had many, many animals -- a peacock with feathers of night and a beautifully painted scorpion, to name a few -- it was the crow that the king had found most useful, for the crow had the ability to charm any and every visitor that came to attend its song. Peasants pledged their lands to the king, lords and ladies swore to forever serve the crown, and even visitors from far-off lands declared that no harm would ever come to his kingdom. To lay harm to the kingdom would be to threaten the crow itself, and then who would sing those wonderful songs?

And so the king promised to give the crow anything and everything it ever wanted, presenting only one condition for this agreement.

_ I will give you riches beyond your imagination, _ the king had declared, displaying his massive wealth to the crow.  _ Companions, living quarters, exotic meats and spices from the edges of the world -- all this and more, friend. If you will only pledge to me your undying loyalty, I will promise you these things. What say you, crow? _

The crow had leapt for joy at his good fortune, for never in his life had he believed he would achieve such luxury. He cried,  _ Yes! Yes, Your Majesty! I shall serve you for the rest of my days! _

The king had clapped his hands together at that moment, and then it was so.

And so life was very good for the little crow. He would ring his silver bell, and the servants would bring him spiced fish and roasted meats, slices of fruits he could not even name, honey cakes served on porcelain dishes, and fine, fragrant tea. He would ring his silver bell, and the servants would bring him pillows stuffed with down, blankets lined with silver and gold, and even a little golden perch on which he could rest his feet on. He would ring his silver bell, and the servants would bring him the companionship of their finest doves and cockatiels and all manner of beautiful birds, each one more beautiful than the last.

_ All this for singing in the king’s court,  _ the crow had thought to himself, lounging upon one of his many pillows. He was very, very satisfied.  _ How clever I am! How fortunate I am! _

It was not long before the crow became greedy. He wanted more.

The crow, blinded by his own greed, accustomed himself to being at the king’s beck and call. No longer did he listen to the reasons why the king asked him to charm the court, and no longer did he question the king’s demands. Before long, the king had amassed the wealth and lands of most of his lords and ladies, taxed the people quite severely, and passed strict, nearly unthinkable laws upon his own kingdom. Laws so strict that not even the crow’s young sister could adhere to them.

But the crow only danced among his riches and finery, lost in musings of his own good fortune. Like his brother, the arrogant peacock, the crow had only thought of the good life and wonderful things that the king had given him.

And so when the king asked him, one day, to commit sororicide, he had almost succumbed to his own greed.

The king looked gravely upon the crow.  _ Your brothers have proven to be nothing more than failures,  _ said the king.  _ Useless brutes. But you, my friend -- I shall entrust the spear of light to you, for you are my most loyal servant. What say you, crow? _

The spear of light was a wondrous, brilliant blade. Much more beautiful than anything the king had ever given him. Yet the crow could not bring himself to desire it, for he knew what the king had asked of him. The crow could not imagine anointing his young sister’s blood upon that blade.

The crow was much too clever to refuse the king outright. He simply took to his post before the spear of light as the king retired for the night, so secretive was this task, and he waited.

And waited. And waited.

When he was sure that the king slumbered in his own chambers, he tore open the casing of the spear of light with his own beak, scarring his own breast in the process, and took it within his own claws. The spear of light was weighty, yes, but his desire to save his kin was stronger. How could he ever have lost himself so fully in his own greed? How had he become blind to the wrongdoings of the king? And so he threw open great stained windows of the palace, clutching the spear of light.

But his task was nothing more than a ruse.

_ Wretched creature! _ the king bellowed, the crow caught in the act. The spear of light clattered to the ground as the crow’s body met the floor, the king enraged by his betrayal.  _ I have given you everything you have ever desired, and this is how you betray me? You are no better than that blustering peacock! _

And so the king cut off his tongue, taking with it the crow’s wondrous song.

In the aftermath of the war, trapped in the neverending darkness, the crow wept and wept for the loss of his tongue. The benefactors of his new home had been kind enough to give him a new one, allowing him to speak just as well as he could before, but never again would he sing the beautiful songs that he had in the palace. Never again would his voice be so wondrous.

Perhaps if you are very, very quiet, dear listener, you can hear the crow weep. That is why you must never be too greedy.


	5. The Child-King

Far away in the land where crows fly in the everlasting night, where the darkness is deep and impenetrable, and where the false moon smiles upon her children, dwelt an old, powerful king. This king possessed the riches of the seven seas in his chambers, all matter of beautiful things from around the world, and the most beautiful consorts one could imagine -- and yet he could not be satisfied. For he was a very greedy king, you see, and an unkind one at that. And so when the king had exhausted his kingdom of its strongest warriors, the beast tamers of their most fearsome animals, and the guilds of their greatest architects and artists, he began to devise a plan.

_ I must have more,  _ the king mused as he lounged in his chambers. His consorts danced and whirled around him, but even their wiles could no longer entertain the king.  _ I have tamed the three-headed beast, conquered my brothers’ kingdoms, and taken their lands and people for my own. I have drunk from the highest chalice, dined at the finest halls, and gathered the most beautiful sculptures of the world. But there must be more, surely. There must! _

Then the fair consort before him had dared to inquire as to what might be troubling her dear king, her beauty shining as if it had come from the heavens, and the king had an insidious thought.

The king had a son. His son had hair of golden flax, eyes as blue as sapphires, and skin the color of milk. And oh, what a fine son he was indeed! He learned how to fence by the age of eight, and it was not long before he could best some of the king’s finest knights in the training yard. He learned how to ride on horseback, trained as he was by the king’s huntresses, and it was only a matter of time before he could slay the most fearsome hell-boars. He learned how to notch and aim the bow with perfect precision, how to wield the most difficult of weapons, and how to spar bare-handed.

Years passed. Soon it was the day of the young prince’s coronation ceremony, for in those days the prince ruled alongside the king in order to learn how the kingdom must be guided. The consort cried in delight as her son ascended the stairs to the throne, the king and only his most trusted subjects attending the ceremony. Here stood the wizened advisor, perpetually hunched as he was over his walking cane. Here stood the castle steward, her unblinking, slitted eyes peering over her spectacles at the young prince. There were the members of the king’s council, each one more devious than the last.

At the end of the line stood the dark-haired executioner. His green eyes were inscrutable as he looked upon the ceremony, distanced as he was from the castle’s internal affairs.

The king smiled warmly upon his son as the young prince ascended the steps. His son knelt before him.

_ You have done well, _ said the old king.  _ You have bested my strongest knights, you have slain the most fearsome of creatures, and you have hunted the most swift of quarry. Are you prepared to sacrifice yourself for the throne? _

_ Yes! _ declared the young prince, the determination of a warrior in his eyes.  _ For you father, I shall do anything. _

And so he devoured the young prince whole.

The consort had cried out in fear at the sight, her heart wrought over the sudden death of her son, and the king devoured her, too. The king was overjoyed at this, of course, for devouring such a powerful creature had given unto the king the strength of a dozen men.

The king’s second child was even more handsome than the last. She had skin the color of rich umber, hair that coiled beautifully around gold and silver pins, and eyes as deep as the sunless sky. Oh, what a clever daughter she was indeed! She learned how to speak in all languages that had ever been written, debating often with the castle’s scholars and scribes, and it was not long before she became learned in numbers and letters alike. She was a bright pupil, and in a matter of years she had become one of the most brilliant scholars the kingdom had ever had the pleasure of producing.

Years passed, and soon it was the day of her coronation. The king and his most trusted subjects stood before her as she ascended the steps, and she knelt before the king.

_ You have become everything I have wished you to be and more, _ said the king, smiling warmly upon his daughter.  _ You have outwitted my scholars and bested my linguists. Are you prepared to sacrifice yourself for the throne? _

_ Of course!  _ said his daughter, quite offended that he thought she would refuse her place as regent.  _ I have prepared all my life for this moment. _

And so he devoured the young princess whole, and the knowledge of a thousand tongues became his to take.

His third child was a boy that gleamed like starlight, a creature who possessed the cunning of a fox. The king, too, devoured this one whole, and the boy’s art of trickery was his to take.

His fourth child was a girl that could charm each lord and lady in the king’s court, a creature who possessed everlasting wit. The king, too, devoured this one whole, and the girl’s wit was his to take.

His fifth child was one who had possessed otherworldly beauty, outshining even the most comely of the king’s consorts. The king, too, devoured this one whole, and the child’s beauty was his to take.

The king’s sixth child, a boy of hell-fire locks and golden eyes, was nothing to be spoken of. He had little talent with the blade, for he was ungainly and unwieldy as a newborn faun, and so the knights did not teach him further how to fight. He could not notch and aim a bow and arrow with ease, allowing his quarry to escape, and so the huntresses did not further teach him how to hunt. He had trouble grasping any other language than his native tongue, frustrating even the most stubborn of his teachers, and so his tutors had no patience to bother with him further. He possessed neither cunning nor wit, neither extraordinary beauty nor charm -- and so the king and his subjects shunned him.

But for all of his faults, the child was kind. The king’s sixth son, while weak in spirit, was the most good-natured, selfless, and most benevolent of them all, for he only possessed goodness in his pure heart. Despite being shunned by the castle, the child was forever gentle with the king’s animals, befriending even the fearsome three-headed beast, and the child was forever gracious towards the castle’s most frightening of subjects, befriending the even the dispassionate, cold executioner.

Years passed. In three days time, it would be the young prince’s coronation.

The young prince trembled in his chambers, frightened as he was of being devoured by his own father. The executioner stood beside the boy and tried to soothe his fears, but the young prince only wept and wept.

_ Oh, what shall I do? _ cried the young prince.  _ I do not want to be eaten! Surely there must be a way! _

The executioner looked upon the young prince with sympathy, for years of the young prince’s kindness had thawed his heart and lent itself to friendship. And so he procured a devil’s bloom from his pocket, pressed it to his lips once, and presented it to the young prince.

_ Brew this under the light of the moon and place it into the king’s chalice,  _ said the executioner.  _ He will fall asleep so soundly that he will not be awake for the coronation ceremony. _

The young prince was overjoyed! He eagerly took the devil’s bloom from the executioner and thanked him profusely for his gift. The executioner wished the young prince good night, taking his leave, and the young prince set to work on using the executioner’s gift.

But the young boy became trapped in lessons all day with his frustrated tutors, enduring hours upon hours of tedious work. He could not find the opportunity to slip away. The afternoon turned into dusk, and dusk turned into night. The king took his nightly tea without the boiled devil’s bloom.

The next day, the executioner attended the young prince once more. The young prince wept, for he knew he had failed in his task, and the executioner did his best to assuage the young prince’s fears.

_ Oh, what will I do? _ cried the young prince, clutching the useless devil’s bloom in his hands.  _ I have failed to use your gift, and now I will surely be eaten! _

And so the executioner procured a vial from his pocket, presenting it to the young prince. The young prince ceased his weeping for a moment, looking upon the strange object, and the executioner pressed it into his hands.

_ This vial holds the crushed bone of a hell-hound,  _ explained the executioner.  _ Place it within the king’s dinner, and you shall be saved from your fate. _

Once the more the young prince became filled with joy, thanking his friend profusely. They said their goodbyes, and the young prince slept soundly with thoughts of hope.

But the next day had only brought the young prince long hours of practice with the knights and the huntresses, and the young prince had not been strong enough to fend them off long enough to slip away. The young prince had failed again.

On the last night before the coronation ceremony, the young prince only sat solemnly in his chambers, for no longer could he conjure hope. No longer would he believe that he could save himself from his fate. The executioner met with him once more and, out of the fondness for his friend, gave him one last gift.

_ This is the blood of a forgotten god,  _ said the executioner, pressing the gift into the boy’s hands. _ Drink it, and you will have the strength to slay the king. _

The young prince only looked upon the gift with horror. _ But I cannot do that!  _ protested the young prince.  _ He is my father! _

But the executioner had no more gifts to give. Try as he might, the young prince could think of no other way to escape from his fate. And so he slept restlessly, both fear and doubt stirring in his pure heart.

The day of the coronation ceremony came. This time, as the king believed the young prince had no power among his own people, the throne room was filled with the lords and ladies and subjects of the castle. The king and his most trusted subjects stood at the head of the room, looking upon the young prince as he knelt before the king. The executioner was nowhere to be found.

_ You have disappointed me most greatly, _ said the king, regarding the prince with disgust.  _ You have neither the strength to swing a blade, nor do you possess the skill to wield a bow. You do not have the capacity to excel in your studies, nor do you possess the wit. You are not worthy of your station. What say you in your defense? _

Emblazoned by the taste of the forgotten god’s blood, the young prince cried, _ You have mercilessly slaughtered your own people, drained them of their vitality, and stolen what little possessions they have had! You, a tyrant, are undeserving of the throne! What have you to say in your defense, father? _

The old king, incensed by his own son’s insolence, lunged at the young prince. The blood had done much to aid the young prince’s abilities, allowing him to fend off the king, but the king’s stolen gifts allowed him to truly best the prince in the end. The king stood before the bloody, beaten prince, prepared to devour him as he had done the others. The prince gazed upon his father with fear.

Perhaps it was this fear that incited the change in the young prince.

Perhaps it was the righteous anger, the flames of which were unfamiliar, that began the metamorphosis.

Or perhaps it was that the king, as a demon in the truest sense of the word himself, had produced a monster.

When the young prince was finished, the blackened blood of his kin staining his maw, he plucked the bloodied crown from the stone floor and placed it atop his own head. Other than the corrupted of the king’s subjects, who had been swallowed whole, it was the king who had been torn asunder. It was the king who had felt his body separated limb from limb, piece by piece. And so the young prince looked upon the people that were his subjects now, stood in front of the throne, and saw what fear and horror the people now held for him.

But then the executioner emerged from the shadows and clasped the young prince’s hand in his, raising it high for all to see.

_ He has slain the cruel and greedy king! _ declared the executioner.  _ He has executed the tyrant that has terrorized us! Have you no gratitude? Are you not ashamed to be so ungrateful? All hail the king! _

The people rejoiced, singing his praises. The child-king took his place at the throne, ruling with a good, kind heart, and the executioner was appointed as one of the child-king’s closest advisors. The kingdom fell into prosperity once more, the people flourished under the rule of the benign king, and the lands began to heal.

And so the child-king and the executioner lived happily ever after.


	6. Her Name Was Thousand-Eyes

Once upon a time, there lived a wretched, unwanted child.

Oh, but who could blame his father? The child was borne of his father’s hatred and rage! The child was so unsightly that not even the beasts would have loved him, for his body was of the strangest, most curious shape. This child had bones the color of soot, which you could see through the dark, writhing mass of blazing flesh, and his head was shaped much like that of a some horrid hound. He nearly looked as if he had two faces, for his visage split open in the center whenever he feasted or smiled, and it was only after much disgust by his father that he stopped smiling. Worst of all were the twisted, pitch-black pair of horns that sprouted from his skull. It was this that forever reminded his father of the circumstances of his birth, and it was this that the wretched child would come to truly detest about his form. The child would do everything he could to wrench the offending things off, pulling and pulling with all his might – but it was of no use. The horns were as much a part of him as his bones.

_ Would you like to go to school? _ asked his father one day, peering over the desk. The wretched child looked up at his father with both surprise and curiosity, for his father never spoke to him first. His father only sighed. _ It is time you learned more about the world, _ said he.  _ There are many more like you at school. _

The wretched child did not know what school was, nor did he know why his father had asked, but he was so overjoyed that his father had spoken to him that he said, _ Yes, yes, I would! Thank you very much. _

His father did not answer. There was only the scrawling of his quill against the parchment and the popping of the suet of the candle. It did not matter: he would be able to go to school! He would meet many more like him, and oh, no longer would he be so lonely! He would make many friends, so many that his father would not be able to count them. His father would come and see how well he was liked in this new place called school, and perhaps … perhaps he would come to like him as well, one day.

So the wretched child did his best to be especially good for the rest of the day. He ate dinner with his brothers without making a fuss, combed his own hair, and even went to bed without asking any of his brothers to read from one of his picture books. He dreamt of many wonderful things that night, imagining all that could happen at this place called school, and he slept quite soundly.

The next day, his eldest brother walked him to school. He did his best not to skip the entire way, excited as he was, but even he could not help himself. Lucky for him, his eldest brother was in a good mood that day -- and in moments they began to race all the way to the front gates, the child laughing with glee. His eldest brother bade him good-by, and the child turned to face what lay within.

His father had lied.

The school was filled with children who looked like his brothers, not him. Some of these children had horns, yes, some of them even bearing a few tails or extra eyes or other oddities, but none were as monstrous as he. None possessed that terrible hound’s head or the strange, writhing flesh. None possessed sunken, blazing eyes or a maw that dripped with green flame. Other than the odd pairs of horns, none possessed the features that had led his father to hate him.

The school children, as if sensing a monster within their midst, steered clear of the wretched child. The child spent his first day at school alone, just as he always had at home.

And so came many lonely, long days at school. His teacher took pity on him and gave him many books to read, satiating only a bit of his curiosity, but not even she could stand to look at the wretched creature for very long. So she went away, and he was alone again.

One day, a girl with many eyes went and stood before him.

She blinked one eye. The other thousand followed. The wretched child could only stare at her as she asked,  _ And what might you be? _

The wretched child did not speak, so surprised was he that another had chosen to speak to him. The many-eyed girl stamped her foot and huffed at his silence, and once more she asked.

The wretched child blinked. _ Me? _

_ Yes, you! _ The many-eyed girl made a very dramatic, sweeping gesture. _ Have you no ears? Answer me now, or I shall be very cross with you! _

The wretched child did not speak for a moment, for not even he was sure of the answer. His father had told him that he came from him, you see, but not once did his father explain exactly what he was. But the girl in front of him had asked a question, he mused, so there must be some uncertainty regarding it. If she had asked, that meant he was much different from the other school children. What did that make him?

_ I am Thousand-Eyes _ , said the girl. She stuck her hand out to him, giving him an expectant look, and he took it. The girl shook it with vigor.  _ My mother says she should have named me Thousand-One, or Thousand-and-One, or maybe even Too-Many, but they didn’t have enough time to count all of them. Tell me your name. _

The wretched child began,  _ I am -- _

And then he stopped. His father had never given him a name, he realized. What was his name?

_ It is very nice to meet you, I Am! _ The girl nodded quite solemnly, for the act of making friends is very serious for little children.  _ Now we know each other! I hereby declare that we are friends from this day forward. Have you got any problem with that, I Am? _

He did not.

And so Thousand-Eyes and the wretched child were inseparable from that day forward. Wherever Thousand-Eyes went, the wretched child followed. Whatever Thousand-Eyes did, the child did as well. Thousand-Eyes made up very many games for them to play, and their afternoons became filled with joy and laughter. The wretched child told Thousand-Eyes of the wonderful things he had learned in books, and Thousand-Eyes listened with rapt attention.

_ Will I ever go there someday? _ asked Thousand-Eyes, staring dreamily into the sunless sky.

_ Go where? _ he echoed.

_ Why, to the surface, of course! _ Thousand-Eyes stood to full height, which was not very tall at all, and perched herself upon the rock as if she were the queen of the world. The lights of the city lay before them, shining like beacons in the endless darkness.  _ Mother says she has been there only a few times, but she has told me so little of her travels that I can only imagine what it is truly like! What if humans have streets paved with gold? What if honey cakes and roasted hazelnuts burst out from the flowers? Oh, how I wish to know! _

The child had a sudden idea. Insidious as it was and secretive it would have to be, the child thought it was a very good idea indeed. He clasped one of his friend’s hands in his own claws and spoke the idea into her ear. Thousand-Eyes mulled over the idea for a moment, dumbstruck, for she had never even thought of this idea before.

_ Your father would be very cross with you, _ said Thousand-Eyes. _ I do not care if Mother scolds me when I return, but I do not want you to be needlessly punished. Are you sure? _

_ Of course I am _ , lied the child. He only wanted to bring Thousand-Eyes as much happiness as she had given unto him.  _ And we will not be gone for very long. I will ask my brother to look for us if we do not return by dusk. _

When he returned home, the child pulled his eldest brother aside after dinner to discuss the matter with him. His eldest brother, who was normally a brash, loud creature, regarded the child for the first time with worry.

His eldest brother frowned, his blue eyes seeming to pierce through the child.  _ You’d best stay down here where it’s safe. The angels will hunt and eat you alive, child. It is much too soon after the war. _

_ But it’s only once!  _ begged the child, his dark, shadowy flesh begging to writhe around his horns.  _ I only ask that you look for us if we are not back by dusk, brother. _

_ I cannot allow you to do so. _

_ Even if I bring you back a silver coin?  _ The child did his best to flatten his writhing shadows of flesh as much as possible, quieting the verdant flame within.  _ Even if I pay you in as much human silver as I can? _

* * *

The next day, right after school hours had finished, the child took Thousand-Eyes through the portal and to the surface, where the humans dwelled. She blinked her many eyes in the sunlight, for demons are not used to the brightness -- and then she gazed at the scene around her with awe. The child could not help but smile at the exultation that had made itself clear on his dear friend’s visage. Thousand-Eyes began to run down the field of wildflowers, nearly tumbling down the hill as she did so, and stopped at a particularly colorful patch of flora. The child chased after her.

_ How wonderful! _ she cried, taking one of them into her hands. She held it out to the child with glee.  _ Oh, everything is just as beautiful as I had ever imagined! What might this be, do you think? _

The child brought it up to his snout and sniffed it.  _ It’s sweet, so it must be honeysuckle, _ he said.  _ I believe it is safe to -- _

Before the child could stop her, Thousand-Eyes plucked it from his claws and tossed it into her mouth, chewing it once before swallowing. Her eyes lit up with delight, much to the child’s surprise. She began to reach for another, but the child stopped her with a clawed hand. Thousand-Eyes watched the child as he took another delicately with his claws, brought it to his maw, and drank the nectar. Thousand-Eyes looked upon the act with wonder, and then she copied it. Once more, her expression showed nothing but joy.

And so they spent the day playing in the fields of the human world, tumbling down the grassy hills, and frolicking in the forest. They played games of tag, knitted together flower crowns, and thought of all sorts of games they could play in the future, for they had only so much time now. Despite his brother’s warnings to only visit the human world once, the child found himself longing for such moments with Thousand-Eyes. He mulled over the idea as he lay on the soft earth, and Thousand-Eyes blinked her many eyes at him, as if to ask him what was the matter. A crown of honeysuckle graced her head, the soft white petals pressing against four or five of her eyes.

If he had not known any better, he would have believed her to be a princess.

_ We will come here again, _ he said simply, and the child left it at that.

* * *

And so they did. Thousand-Eyes and the child visited a great many places in the human realm, as they were at the mercy of the portal, and they saw a great deal of many wondrous things. They frolicked in a castle long abandoned to the woods one day, frolicking among the overgrown walls and crumbling stone. The child chased Thousand-Eyes on all four of his paws, playing tag. They explored a cavern of a cathedral in the daylight, dashing and hiding behind pillars when they believed they sensed a human. They played games along the edge of a mountain spring, drinking deeply of its bounty. The wretched child stole and returned his eldest brother’s silver coins again and again, for his brother never remembered which coins were which, and then he went to waste away his afternoons with his dear friend.

_ They say I am a seer, _ said Thousand-Eyes one day, her fingers trailing the edge of a worn stone wall.  _ Mother says I should be careful, really, but what’s the fun in that? I’m quite sure that no one would dare harm me, as is. _

_ And why is that? _ The child loped after her in the forgotten temple, his eyes drawing themselves over the carved figures. He felt only the slightest pang of vexation at that. At being wanted.  _ Surely it would do you good to have some sense of danger. _

Thousand-Eyes only turned to the wretched child, her smile rivalling the sun beams that streamed down from above. The child could only look upon Thousand-Eyes, entranced as he was, and Thousand-Eyes plucked a flower from the wall. She placed it among the writhing shadows of his skull, smoothing them down as she did so, and cradled the side of his snout for a moment. Then she plucked a flower for herself and placed it in her own hair, matching him.

_ Well, I have you, do I not? _

And just like that, the vexation he had felt had all but vanished.

* * *

The day of her two-hundredth birthday -- perhaps six or seven in human years -- came. The child wrapped her present gingerly within the honeysuckle-printed paper, tied it tight with a ribbon, and set off to the portal once more. He would be late, he knew, but surely she would not be angry once she saw the wonderful present he had prepared for her. A moment, and the portal opened up before his hunched body. Another moment, and he stepped through the portal, his feet meeting cobblestone on the other side. The sunlight blinded him for the span of a second, and he blinked away the harsh brightness.

He was in a city, strangely enough. No matter. Thousand-Eyes would be only some short distance from the portal, he was sure, and so he loped off to search for her in the alleyways and nooks of the human city. Her present was tucked gently within one clawed hand, and he made a note to do as much as he could not to damage her birthday present before he could give it to her.

Minutes passed, and he could not find her. He began to worry.

An hour passed, and he could not find her. He began to grow desperate.

The sky darkened, the sunset peeking out before the horizon, and he could not find her. The child became frantic, bounding through the city as he searched for Thousand-Eyes. Perhaps she had not come today. Perhaps her mother had instead kept a closer watch on her and she had simply been kept home, celebrating her birthday quite nicely with cakes of honey and roasted hazelnuts and all sorts of good things. Perhaps he was only worried for nothing, and he and Thousand-Eyes would laugh about it later over a game of chase.

Yet he could not bring himself to believe it. The child searched, and searched, and searched for hours on end, and soon it was dark.

And soon he found her. An angel with wings of alabaster and burning flesh released her, and the lifeless body that was once Thousand-Eyes crumpled to the ground. Her many eyelids wept blackened blood. Three other figures laughed with merriment as he did so, one of them clutching a bag that dripped with black ichor. Her ichor.

_ What luck we have!  _ declared the angel with burning flesh. He took the sack from one of the figures and presented their bounty to them once more, for they could not believe their fortune.  _ Surely we have been blessed this day. _

_ Yes, _ agreed the figure beside him.  _ To think we would have stumbled upon such a rare beast! _

_ And such an easy quarry, too,  _ added another.

His father had told him, once, that he was nothing more than a monster borne from his hatred and wrath. That he would never be anything more of a reminder of his disgrace and exile in that damned, dark place. His father had told him that he was a terrible, horrid, dangerous thing, and that it was only by his brothers’ grace that he had been let outside of the confines of the house. Perhaps if he tried just a bit harder, he would look just like the rest of his brothers. His father told him a great many painful things, you see, but it was only now he truly felt the flames of wrath. It was only now that his horns ignited with hellfire, his eyes blazing in the darkness, and his teeth grew into something truly worthy of a beast. It was only now that his claws became long and sharp, preparing themselves for the slaughter. It was only now that true, unbridled wrath burned like fire in his heart, consuming him from within. 

And so the wretched child stepped out from the shadows.

* * *

The cobblestones drank the divine blood, the cerulean liquid soaking slowly into the street. The wretched child sobbed quietly into the lifeless body of his dear friend, crumpled on the ground. His eldest brother arrived some time later, took the wretched child by the hand, gathered the lifeless body, and carried them both home.

The funeral was a quiet one. The wretched child watched the procession from some distance away, as Thousand-Eyes’ distraught mother would not allow such a monster to attend. The wretched child’s father stood before him afterwards, both his disgust and his disappointment shrouding his visage more than the everlasting darkness ever would. The wretched child knew this, despite not daring to look into his eyes.

_ What do you have to say for yourself? _ asked his father, who was truly very cross. They stood in the shadows of his study. The wretched child only stared down at his clawed hands.

For a long moment, he did not dare to speak. He did not dare to breathe. When he finally spoke, it was with the grief of what his own actions had wrought, his throat heavy with sobs.

_ Her name was Thousand-Eyes, _ said the wretched child,  _ and she was my friend. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment if you would like -- don't leave a comment if you don't want to.
> 
> Feel free to suggest whom you would want to read a fairytale about next!


End file.
